


Radioactive

by unethicalcoffee



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/F, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unethicalcoffee/pseuds/unethicalcoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Elsa first touches her, every muscle in Anna's body clenches. Her body a patchwork of tightly wound rope, every inch of her is tugged and can never relax; be it mere proximity or the brush of pampered skin on hers, Anna's very being is taut, her tendons flooded with lactic acid, screaming for release.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Radioactive

When Elsa first touches her, every muscle in Anna's body clenches. Her body a patchwork of tightly wound rope, every inch of her is tugged and can never relax; be it mere proximity or the brush of pampered skin on hers, Anna's very being is taut, her tendons flooded with lactic acid, screaming for release.

"This can't be all you're paying me for," Anna says. It's meant to be sarcastic, playful; it sounds desperate. It's coming from her burning limbs, she supposes.

Elsa's bony fingers tighten around the back of Anna's shirt, reaching for as much of her as she can through fabric. Her cheek, having pressed against Anna's ear only seconds ago, trades places with her nose, her voice hot and breathy and quiet like a warm storm.

"I'll pay for whatever you want," she insists, "but this much is fine with me."

And Anna's heart swells up, wounded and throbbing. Of course her sister is everything she thought she'd be, and more; a customer with no idea how to buy someone, starved to the point that she cannot consume. But Anna knows her own desires, and if they’re standing right in front of her, she'll take them. Her body deserves as much, her mind no less.

In any case, this resolution does nothing to stop the trepidation that bursts through her fingers as they reach for her sister's jaw; she's dreamt of this – in various forms, but _this_ , at the heart of it – day in and day out for twelve long years, she knows better than anyone that dreams are seldom realised. Her hands are arrested mere inches from Elsa's face, for gross misconduct and terrible cowardice, but the blonde takes them into her own – _she's_ shaking too, god bless her – and places them upon white-pink sheets of the smoothest ice. Anna can hear herself shudder.

"You're freezing," she announces, as though she hadn't already been aware. Elsa smiles timidly.

"Sorry."

And after a moment's pause, Anna realises she's got to make the first move. Elsa will only fill in the gaps, direct her to her own desires; she won't do anything for her own sake. As well as she knows the trait itself, Anna has never known from whence it came and, perhaps because it is in her nature, likes even less than she understands. So it falls to her; her burning palms take to Elsa's skin like a dying man to medicine, her lips become the martyrs that die to save the rest of her. At first, Elsa doesn't kiss back, and Anna pulls away, her head rushing feverishly with embarrassment, with disappointment, their sacrifice for _nothing_ ; then Elsa's arms clasp shut around her waist and the blonde is the one to kiss her instead. The first is ghostly, the second insistent, the third like heaven.

When the deed is done they lie awake; Anna’s blood burns cold as she traces letters onto Elsa’s skin, remembering distantly that skin dies and words evanesce. Neither of them can seem to sleep, though not for lack of trying, and it feels at once like years and minutes before Elsa jerks from Anna’s grasp and assembles her clothes. Another rope finds its way into Anna’s throat, tugging and sticking there, thick and scratchy, but she wraps the sheets about her shoulders in silence and watches as Elsa laces up the back of her dress. Anna takes the money that her sister offers her – she’ll return it at a later date, in secret – and she can’t help but wonder at the amount, a magnanimous gesture for a (supposed) prostitute. She wonders if her make-up had truly obscured her face enough to…

No, she thinks, that’s enough. Her body still tense in the aftermath of exhilaration, she falls back to the mattress, defeated.

She’d rather not know.


End file.
